


Short Stories

by Silly_Slimy_Slap



Category: random - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 05:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silly_Slimy_Slap/pseuds/Silly_Slimy_Slap
Summary: This is just a bunch of random short stories I've written.





	1. Chapter 1

First Glimpse

The freezing air creeping up my back, I gripped my arm, holding onto all the warmth I can. The creaking floor of the boat beneath me. The quiet crying of my brother brought pain to my chest. I pulled the blanket tighter over him, the only blanket we had, and held him close to me. We both drifted off to sleep with the smell of sea salt and the cool breeze, occasionally the rocking of the boat woke me up, or Jeremy’s crying. Sometimes it was simply drunk people yelled outside our crate.  
The morning finally came and all of us stowaways climbed out of the crates we were situated in, we snuck off the boat and into Australia. Some people saw us and yelled trying to grab us, but our light bodies meant we could outrun them. We scrounged for food after we left the boat, obviously, German runaways would be hungry.  
A stranger grabbed my shoulders and I couldn't keep running.  
“What are you doing here, kid?” I didn’t understand the English and so I tried to keep running. He grabbed the blanket off my baby brother.  
“Nien, Sir, hör auf!” he chuckled and let me go, I continued on, finding a dark alley to hide in. it wasn't the best but it was better than nothing.  
Jeremy started to cry again, his now freezing body was shaking and covered in goosebumps. The only thing he had on was the jumpsuit he was wearing when we were forced to leave.  
Finally relaxing after days, or maybe weeks, I started getting flashbacks. Flashbacks of the nazi’s trying to force papa to leave us, mama trying to push us out of the door, Jeremy crying and screaming in her arms. Then- my eyes flashed open, I don't want to remember, but it’s stuck in my mind, the screams, blood and gunshots. My poor parents, they never even got to see Australia, didn't even witness me, a seven-year-old, looking after a baby on a boat after they both left me- well if you call it that. I heard some yelling nearby and clutched onto Jeremy closer. Tears started flooding from my eyes, breaking down after finally allowing myself to be calm. I cried for hours with my brother, both eventually falling asleep.  
My eyes flickered open. I was sat in an unfamiliar vehicle, driving somewhere. Jeremy wasn't in my arms. I tried to stand up but a seatbelt restricted my movement. Thrashing around I noticed how warm I was, looking down, there was a blanket wrapped over my shoulders. There was light mutters in the front seat, I clenched my teeth, scared.  
“Hallo?” I questioned.  
They responded kindly, they knew German and I felt safe. We finally arrived at a barred up place. It didn't look very comfortable but when I got inside they gave us shelter and some food.  
Unknowingly, I thought I was safe.  
“Ich habe es getan, Mom, ich bin hier. Wir sind in Sicherheit."

Nien, Sir, hör auf! - no, sir, stop it!  
Hallo - hello  
Ich habe es getan, Mom, ich bin hier. Wir sind in Sicherheit. - I did, Mom, I'm here. We are safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short story called Refugees Journey I wrote as part of school.

Refugees Journey

Water lashing against the boat side, bringing difficulty to all of us, forcing the food up our throats like water gushing out of a hose. We barely fit, with all 81 of us even the smallest person was getting pushed around almost off the boat, despite the efforts we all went to. The water pushed its way into the boat, filling quickly, posing a great threat to all of us, as the boat was already on the verge of sinking. Everyway I turn there are people in my face, sleeping or not, it is crowded like I am just another fish in the tuna tin. People push and shove, forcing their way off the boat. When I was thrown into the cold sea water no one helped me. I am shivering uncontrollably. Someone wrapped me in foil, trying to keep me from freezing to death.  
People are struggling to avoid the police, creeping around to eschew paying the money they needed to but didn’t have. Sweat beads streaming down my face with the scorching sun against my neck. I can feel the burning of my skin. The long journey meant new people, interesting stories and community. We stuck by each other, being supportive and helping others on the way to the camp. Hot sand underfoot burning our feet until they were numb. It was difficult to endure the sun but by dawn, we had made it to the camp.  
Locals scowled at us, glaring from outside our prison cell. Many people avoided even looking at us, and pushed their children along quickly, as if we were going to give them the black plague if they stood around us for too long, even some animals hissed and ran when I tried to pat them, I felt like a poison ivy, everyone wanted to avoid me, and the people I had become acquaintances with. After not too long a big black truck arrived, it was vexatious for all of us, puffing away, wheels scraping against the gravel. People started to push and shove, trying to get to the gate edge and see the cargo of the truck, I was in a good position to see everything. Rain started to patter and it got cold. We were rushed inside right as a large man in a suit exited the vehicle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short story called 'What's Home?' I wrote as part of school.

What is home?

For others, home is a place that is comfortable, safe and happy. Home smells like roses and candles with animals roaming around. Home is with the people you love, your parents, siblings, and friends. Home is the places you love going to and staying at. Home is the way a certain place is, the layout, the rooms, the furniture. Home is the happiness in your heart you carry with you everywhere you go, the light that shines brightly or dimly, the light that holds onto memories and positivity about people and animals that are important to you. Home is in everyone you love. Home is in the noises and smells that surround you, the ones that make you reminiscent, joyful, and safe. Home is what brings tears to your eyes, happy or sad. Home can be upsetting and not safe but sometimes it’s worth it. Sometimes, the people that surround you and the place you are in is worth all the strife, no matter how bad it is, no matter how traumatising.

Sometimes it makes you hurt and in pain, sometimes it isn’t very pleasant, and sometimes it is scary. It can be horrible but it should be something to live for, something to love, sometimes fun, content and freeing. It should make people carefree and untroubled, but sometimes it's a living nightmare.

Home is a simple term it means: the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household. Although the definition is easy and simple many people think it is more than just a place, that it is an emotion, a feeling, a thought, a person. In whichever case people tend to find a home, a physical home, a spiritual home, an emotional home. Homes range from many different ends of the spectrum, from a beach to a house, a family member to a friend, a school to a bed. Anything that makes you comfortable is home.

I can't write about something I don't have, it makes me upset but a home isn't possible for me, I try to make one and I fail every single time. Home is a funny word for me, it's complex but also irritating, why need a home when you can't have one, why want a home when all it with do is bring strife and why value a home when it isn't everything you want it to be?  
I don't need a home because for me that would be foreign, feeling appreciated would be strange and unknown, having a place to go wouldn't make me comfortable, it's as if wouldn't fit in even where I'm supposed to.

Back when I had a home it was full of abuse, loneliness and self-loathing, I would go 'home' scared that my father would be having a bad day and I wouldn't hear the end of it or that my sister was in the mood to have a punching bag - me. I'd go to school covered in bruises I would have to hide to not alert my teachers. They wonder why I'm scared, why I need medication and therapy why I look at them with fear when they raise their voices. Yet they are my family, they are what my home should be.  
So 'home' is a nasty word for me, I am not home and I never will be.


End file.
